Sleepless in LA
by cheride
Summary: What happens when what's anticipated doesn't quite work out as planned?


In my favorite episode ever, "The Crystal Duck", Mark's ex-cellmate, Teddy Hollins, is bunking in the gatehouse on the sly. Of course, before the ep is over, Teddy does actually need a place to hide out and help from the local Lone Ranger and Tonto. But he was hiding out at Mark's long before his slimy PO started leaning on him, so what's up with that? Just another plot hole and inconsistency that we're supposed to overlook? Probably. But I always figured there had to be a better reason than _that_.

And, as always, thanks to Owl and LML for patience and encouragement beyond belief.

* * *

**Sleepless in LA**

Cheride

Morning. 6:00. He knew it must be, even though he had put dark blinds behind the already dark curtains, trying to block out the rising sunlight until he wanted it. He had also unplugged the clock, ensuring that no errant alarm would wake him before he was ready. But he'd known even as he went to bed last night that none of that would matter; his body would wake him as it did every morning, and he knew—even without the clock—that it was six a.m.

Stifling a yawn, the man swung his legs onto the floor, then sat silently, letting his eyes scan the darkened room. This was his home now, had been for almost a week, but it sure didn't feel very homey. After a moment, he recognized the problem: it was lonely. The last place he'd called home had provided constant companionship, though he reflected quickly that San Quentin could hardly be called "home", and some of the "companions" left a lot to be desired.

Still, a few weeks ago, he'd thought he'd give just about anything to be alone for a while, not to mention how he felt about grabbing a few extra hours sleep. Yet here he was, at six a.m., wishing he had someone to talk to.

As he pushed himself off the bed and made his way to the bathroom, he thought that once he had his first million, he was going to build a swanky apartment complex for ex-cons, and it would have a twenty-four hour clubhouse with TVs, and games, and maybe a bar with a pretty bartender—a place they could go when they realized being alone wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

00000

Teddy Hollins looked around the dismal diner, pushing the menu aside for the moment. When he'd walked in, the clientele had doubled—and stepped up a notch or two, if the dirty coat hunched over a cup of coffee was anything to judge by. It wouldn't have been his choice of reunion spots, but after a few long days of feeling like some kind of leper, he would've gone just about anywhere to see a friendly face. Then his eyes lit with anticipation as the door opened and a ridiculously loud bell announced the newest visitor.

"Skid!" He slid out of the booth to greet the other man, first grabbing his hand to give a few boisterous shakes, then slapping his arm, and finally pulling him into a quick but effusive bear hug. And the grin never left his face. Then, greeting completed, he stepped back again. "Skid, it sure is great to see you."

McCormick grinned back at him as they took their seats on opposite sides of the table. "It's good to see you, too, Teddy. How've ya been?"

Hollins shrugged carelessly. "You know, fine. Been talkin' to some guys, got a couple things we're trying to put together. It's going okay."

McCormick raised an eyebrow. "Got a job?" he asked plainly.

Teddy's grin slipped just slightly as he grabbed the menu again. Skid always did have a way of getting down to business. "I've been looking," he began, then amended, "some." He lifted his eyes. "It's hard," he said honestly.

McCormick nodded as he began scanning his own menu. "I know, Ted, but you gotta do it. You know the board looks at stuff like that."

"I know," Hollins agreed. "But no one wants to hire an ex-con. How'd you get a job, anyway? And, hey," he added quickly, changing the subject, "you havin' lunch, or breakfast?" He'd heard some rumors about McCormick's current employment status, but he wasn't ready to get into that yet.

If McCormick was bothered by the original question or the abrupt topic change, he gave no sign. "Lunch," he answered. "I'm thinking a sandwich and fries." Then he looked back up and across the table. "I was sort of lucky," he continued sincerely, "garages always need a good gear head, and they can't always afford to be too particular."

"Yeah, well I'm not a gear head," Hollins told him. "My talents are more of the cerebral variety."

"Even you brainy types have to work," McCormick grinned.

They paused their conversation as the sole employee shuffled to the table, pencil and order tablet in hand. After he had taken their orders and gone, McCormick picked up again.

"And there's lots of little places like this that probably have to hire someone every few weeks."

Hollins rolled his eyes. "That's because no one would stay here any longer than that. I can't believe we're even eating here, and you want me to _work_ here?"

"We've eaten in worse places, Teddy. And besides, it fits the budget."

Hollins couldn't really argue with that, though he thought the real appeal for McCormick was probably the out of the way location in a neighborhood unlikely to be seeing many police patrols and even fewer members of the judiciary. Of course, it _was_ true that neither of them could afford to be seen hanging out together. Regardless of what was going on with his ex-cellmate, it was difficult to argue with that thought, too. Even so, he couldn't let the guy think he had no standards.

"I'm gonna find work, Skid," he said confidently, "even if it takes a little while. I just have to make sure I find something that can fully appreciate and utilize my abilities."

McCormick grinned. "Yeah, I'm sure you'll do fine, Teddy."

And then they chatted, with Hollins leading the discussion concerning restaurant franchises with obscure and outlandish menus, travel agencies specializing in trips to far-off and exotic locales, and the possibility of getting rich running an intimate and charming strip club.

The discussion continued as the waiter brought their food, then throughout the meal—the conversation easy and laughter frequent. Hollins thought maybe it was the first honestly relaxed moment he'd had since he'd been out, though he wasn't surprised. Skid had made being inside easier; he'd been pretty sure he'd do the same for the outside. But there was still something he'd put off asking about, and he was running out of time.

"We've talked a lot about me, Skid," he ventured as he pushed away his empty plate, "but what's going on with you?"

McCormick's eyes narrowed slightly. "Whattaya mean?"

"I mean, how've things been going? Is everything okay with you?"

"Yeah, things are fine," Mark answered, though Teddy thought it sounded a little flat.

Hollins looked at his friend closely, then leaned forward slightly, sincerity on his face. "Are you sure, Skid? Because I've been hearing some strange things."

McCormick sighed slightly. "Like what, Ted?"

"Crazy stuff, man." Now that he'd started, Teddy intended to see this through, and he rushed on, before he could change his mind. "I heard you got hooked up with that lunatic judge you were always complaining about. That guy, Hardcase. I mean, that's crazy, right?"

"Oh, it's crazy, all right."

Hollins eased back against the booth, one eyebrow arched in curiosity. "That's not exactly an answer, Skid; it sure as hell ain't a 'no'."

McCormick pushed his plate away, then folded his hands on the tabletop in front of him. "I work for Hardcastle now," he replied evenly, locking his eyes on Hollins'. "I don't know what else you might've heard, but that's all there is to it."

"So you're not livin' with him, then?" Teddy wondered.

"I stay at his place," McCormick clarified, rolling his eyes. "I don't live _with_ him. Jeez, Teddy, I'd think you'd know better than that."

Hollins gave a small shrug. "No one exactly understands what happened, Mark, and a little bit of information makes for a lot of assumptions. People talk, even when they don't know what they're talking about."

"Yeah, well, maybe next time they talk, you can set 'em straight, huh?"

Hollins didn't miss the edge that was creeping into McCormick's voice, but he risked another question. "Yeah, except maybe I don't understand it myself. Hardcase sent you to prison. I thought you hated the guy?"

McCormick slapped a palm down forcefully on the table, unusually loud in the almost empty space. "I did!" Then he huffed out a heavy breath and seemed to deliberately calm himself. "Hell, I dunno, Ted, maybe a part of me still does. He did send me away, and I sure as hell won't ever forget that. But . . ."

"But what?" Teddy prompted when McCormick had let the silence linger for several seconds.

"I dunno, Ted," he repeated. "The part that's weird is that he could've sent me away again, but he didn't. He kept me from going back inside for a _long_ time."

"And that makes everything okay?"

"No." McCormick shook his head. "No, it doesn't make _everything_ okay . . . but it makes right now okay."

Hollins thought about that for a long moment, then decided maybe he could almost understand the inexplicable turn of events. It occurred to him that maybe that was the best ex-cons could hope for: to find something to hang onto _right now_. After all, wasn't that sort of the point of this lunch meeting? He was still an ex-con without a job prospect, still living in a miserable hell-hole, and still alone, but right now, things were okay. Who was he to try and take that away from McCormick, no matter how strange it might seem? He smiled across the table.

"I don't suppose Hardcase or any of his judge buddies would be interested in investing in a strip club?"

00000

Morning. 6:00. Hollins punched at his pillow and deliberately turned his face to the wall, determined to go back to sleep. It wasn't fair, he thought, to finally have his long wished-for freedom and yet still feel like a prisoner. He couldn't go where he wanted, or do what he wanted; hell, he couldn't even _sleep_ when he wanted. Not much point in being on the outside like that.

He bolted suddenly upright in bed, pulling a hand roughly through his hair and trying to banish the treacherous thought. That was the kind of thinking that made a guy do something truly stupid—the kind of stupid that would put him right back in the land of concrete and steel. He'd heard of guys like that, guys that decided being locked up where all your decisions were made for you was easier than trying to make it on the outside. But that wasn't him—couldn't be him. He sat for a moment longer, then deliberately stretched out, closing his eyes as his head connected with the pillow. He wouldn't be one of those guys who couldn't survive on the outside; he couldn't be.

00000

Hollins looked around appreciatively as he crossed the lawn toward the gatehouse, and another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. He thought he'd put up with a lot of craziness himself if it got him digs like this. As he reached the door, he adjusted the clipboard and small box he carried, then gave a few sharp raps.

"Delivery for Mark McCormick," he grinned as the door opened.

He had expected the surprised expression; he had not expected to be dragged suddenly and forcefully inside as the door slammed loudly behind him.

"Teddy! What the hell are you doing here? And how'd you find me, anyway?"

"There aren't that many Judge Hardcastles," Hollins answered petulantly, his face falling. This was not the welcome he'd expected at all. "And once I got here, I asked over at the main house,"

"You asked--?" McCormick sputtered to a stop, then started again. "You mean someone _saw_ you?"

"Just some old lady," Teddy told him, gesturing at the box. "I told her I had a delivery."

"Unbelievable," McCormick muttered, reaching to lock the door. "Did you miss the part of the parole conditions about not associating with known felons?" he asked as he turned back to Hollins. "You're gonna get us both sent back."

"I'm not gonna get anybody sent back," Teddy snapped back, "I got this under control. I even borrowed a delivery van. Nobody's gonna think anything about it." And with that, he dropped the box onto the floor, tossed the clipboard on top, and plopped himself onto the sofa.

"Borrowed?" Mark asked, eyes narrowing, "or stole?"

"_Borrowed_. Don't worry, I ain't gonna bring the heat to this cozy little setup you got goin' here, Skid."

McCormick glared for another few seconds, then gave his head a single shake. Seating himself on the coffee table, he faced his friend. "I'm sorry, Teddy," he said sincerely. "I know you're not trying to cause trouble, but I'm not alone here; don't you get that? I have to be careful. And _you_ should be careful, too," he concluded pointedly.

Teddy's sudden grin lit his face. "You're worried about me!" he exclaimed. "See, that's the Skid I know. That's why I came here."

"What're you talking about now, Ted? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

Hollins shook his head, still grinning. "Nah, no trouble. At least not yet."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I just—" Ted broke off, considering. He had come here intending to tell McCormick all about his fears, to ask if his feelings were normal or if he really was crazy. He had come here looking for a friend. And right in front of him, even surprised and annoyed, that friend was there. "I kinda need a place to stay," he heard himself saying.

To his credit, McCormick didn't laugh in his face or toss him out on his butt, though Teddy figured either one would've been understandable. Instead he simply leaned back and cast an intense gaze on the younger man, as if seriously considering what had to have been the craziest thing he'd heard in a while.

Then Teddy cast a quick glance around the room, remembered where he was, and decided he'd have to settle for second place in the crazy request category. He focused his attention to hear what his friend was saying.

"I thought you had a place, Teddy. Where've you been staying?"

"I've been staying at a dump," Hollins answered. And though he had never planned to lie, he found it happening just the same. "But you know I haven't had much luck finding a job, and it's not like I had a big stash of cash on hand. Even dumps want their rent, and when they don't get it, they invite you to leave pretty quickly." He consoled himself that at least it was only a lie by insinuation.

"And you want to stay here?" McCormick sounded as if the idea of tossing him out on his butt might finally be sinking in.

"You got a whole house to yourself," Teddy said reasonably.

"It isn't mine, Teddy!" Mark jumped to his feet, towering over the smaller man. "Have you completely lost your mind? This place belongs to a judge, in case you've forgotten. He could have us both put back inside with a phone call. Is that what you want?"

"No! That's exactly what I _don't_ want! That's why—"

"Why what?" McCormick demanded after a few tense seconds of silence.

"Never mind," Hollins muttered, getting to his feet. "I'm sorry I bothered you."

But McCormick wasn't budging. "Why _what_?" he repeated, blocking any move toward the door.

It was another long moment before Hollins spoke again. "I don't want to go back inside, Skid," he said, almost inaudibly. "_Ever_. But it's not going so good out here, and I don't know if I can make it on my own." He looked up at the other man. "I'm not trying to put you in a jam, man; I just didn't know where else to go."

This time, when he moved toward the exit, McCormick stepped aside to let him pass.

"Teddy, wait."

His hand was already on the door before McCormick spoke, and he was tempted to ignore the voice and keep right on moving. It was probably the right thing to do for Skid—maybe even the right thing to do for himself. Except that really bad decisions could get made at six a.m. Hoping that coming here hadn't been one of them, he turned back.

"Once you give back the delivery van," McCormick was saying slowly, "would you have a way to get back out here?"

Hollins could feel the grin forming. "I could manage."

"You'd have to stay out of sight," McCormick continued, a small smile beginning on his face, too.

"Of course." Teddy's head bobbed.

"And it couldn't be for long."

"Coupla weeks, tops," Hollins agreed happily.

"_And_, you have to find a job."

"No problem, Skid," he gushed. "I really do want to make things work." He sobered briefly. "And I really _don't_ want to cause any trouble for you."

McCormick offered a full smile. "I know, Ted, I know. Just do me a favor, will ya?"

"Anything."

"Don't ask Hardcastle to invest in any of your business ventures, okay?"

Hollins laughed as he finally opened the door to step outside. "You got it, Skid. You're the only partner I'll need."

Hearing his friend laugh as he pulled the door closed behind him, Hollins felt better than he had since he'd stepped outside those steel gates. And though he knew this was a temporary situation—something just to get through right now—he was already making plans. Maybe he could start a travel agency that specialized in excursions to world-wide strip clubs. He thought there was some definite promise in that idea.

But before any of that, he thought that tomorrow morning, maybe he'd just sleep in.


End file.
